To Fight Another Day
by theemptyrosepond
Summary: During their fight for freedom at the barricade Enjolras is shot instead of Eponine. Unwilling to let the fiery man behind the revolution die with it, she saves him. Both get an unexpected glimpse into each other's worlds and learn that even with the their friends and hope gone, there still may be something worth caring about.


The world was a haze of red and black joined by the thunderous crack of ammunition. Bodies with vacant eyes and open wounds became entangled within the barricade, while their blood painted the streets a haunting shade of crimson. Innocent children lied in the streets in eternal sleep. This was the price of freedom – a sacrifice with hefty weight.

Perched atop the barricade with heavy fire in hand Eponine paused. Her most beloved friend was beside her only a moment ago. Marius. He was the object of her attention, the light of her life, the _crème de la crème _in her eyes, and yet he was blind to her affections. He symbolized all the hope she held for a better world, a world full of happiness and laughter and light. Still, she lurked near the edge of the shadows, waiting for him to shine on her but waiting in vain, for he loved another. Cosette was her name – a pretty girl who resided with her family in childhood, except Eponine's mother always was harsh to the girl and treated her poorly. _Oh, how the roles have reversed_, thought Eponine bitterly.

She hurriedly scanned her surroundings with no luck. She focused her gaze toward the ground, praying not to find him amongst the fallen men. _Oh, thank God_, she thought. He was concealed in the barricade, tucked between the back end of a chair and the side of a table, busy in the task of reloading his gun. Sweat gleamed across his forehead, sticking his shirt to his skin.

Eponine barely registered the voice calling out to her before there was a sharp _SNAP _to her right followed by the harsh grasp of a hand on her arm. The full weight behind the hand dragged her down with it. She slammed into the flat top of a dresser. The hand clung to her wrist for a weak moment but then continued its fall to ground. She took a moment to regain her breath before peering over the edge to survey the damage.

Red bled into red, soon tainting white. Curls of strawberry blonde hair were matted against a feverish yet familiar face.

"Enjolras!" a voice called out. It was Grantaire. He rushed to his comrade's side, his face twisted in consternation. Other men hindered their duties as well, including Marius.

Eponine climbed down the barricade toward the injured man. His chest raggedly rose and fell.

He spoke between labored breaths, "Fight on . . . friends." Grantaire clung even harder to his comrade while the other men shared a look of solidarity. They returned to their posts with the fresh sting of vengeance to fuel them. Grantaire still remained, paying no attention to Eponine's presence. She interrupted his predisposed grievances to exam the wounds. It was a hit halfway between his shoulder and his heart. She began to wrap her coat around the area.

"It may not be fatal, but it's close," she stated as she applied pressure with her hands. Enjolras emitted a guttural sound in response.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Grantaire inquired deprecatingly.

"Helping. And by the looks of it, you could use it."

He remained silent.

The roar of thunder and voices that was so far off came unexpectedly nearer. They looked up to see blue coats climbing over broken furniture. Grantaire's face scrunched up in fury.

"Save him," he growled before seizing a gun and charging toward the enemy in a murderous rage.

Eponine panicked. Their battle was coming to a costly end, their barricade no longer a means of protection or a symbol of freedom. Men were dropping to the ground in front of her and Marius was nowhere to be seen. There was mayhem all around. _He could already be dead_,she feared. She felt a hand grasp her own.

"Leave me," Enjolras urged. It did not seem right to Eponine that she flee for her life while this man, who instilled great passion and purpose into the hearts of those who fought for freedom, who believed so much more in a brighter future for France and was willing to put down his life for it, that he lie on the streets bleeding to death watching his dreams and his friends be diminished in the fiery violence of bullets and oppression.

"No," she countered. "You will live to fight another day." She slung his right arm, the arm on his good side, over her shoulder and heaved her weight into standing him up. He cooperated for the most part, except for leaning a majority of his weight onto her tiny frame and wobbling here and there. She grabbed the revolver still attached to his belt and made her way towards an alleyway. They worked like a machine, him limping with every step of her right foot and her shooting at away at oncoming blue coats. Once they safely made their way across the bloodshed they tucked themselves into the safety of the shadows.


End file.
